That's How It Goes
by Corvus corone
Summary: The Awakening crew want to know how their Commander defeated the Blight. A few tall tales are told and everyone is thoroughly confused. Fun for all!


**That's How It Goes**

x-x

"So, Commander," said Anders, "what was it like defeating the Blight? Stabbing the great and mighty Archdemon?"

"It was just like any old dragon," said the Commander, shrugging. He leaned back in his chair and warmed his feet by the fancy fireplace. "A bit more spiky, perhaps."

"That's... it? Come on, there must be a good story in there somewhere. It's not every day you become the Hero of Ferelden, surely?"

"Sodding great dragon and a bloody great horde of darkspawn minions," said Oghren. He took a swig of the suspiciously smoking bottle he was holding. "Good times."

"What he said," said the Commander.

"I, for one, would find a more detailed description fascinating," Justice said. "If you are willing to talk about it, of co-"

"Doesn't someone have to, you know, suicidally throw themselves at the Archdemon to bring it down?" interrupted Sigrun. "That doesn't sound very cheery."

"Spoilsport," muttered Anders.

"Sigrun is right," the Commander said. "But it all turned out alright in the end. Sort of."

"Could you elaborate?" Anders said.

x-x

It was a dark and stormy night. It was raining, too. And very, very windy. There might have been hail as well, and maybe a few hurricanes. In fact, the weather was downright horrific. There were also darkspawn.

The last of the Grey Wardens (well, there were three, but then one of them up and left to become some wandering drunk which isn't really the same thing and the other one was... well, it sounds more dramatic when you say, "the last") stood outside the city gates of Denerim. Silhouetted against the lightning-lit, hell-bent, rain-filled, tempest-charged, windstor-

_We really don't need to hear about the weather any more, Velanna interrupted._

_Do you _ever_ stop shouting? I'm trying to tell a very deep and meaningful story here, the Commander retorted._

Anyway, the weather was nasty and there was a stupidly huge dragon screeching overhead. It seemed a hopeless task. The darkspawn were numerous, and had overrun the entire city. Riordan – that was the so-called Grey Warden who must have had the same hairdresser as you, Nathaniel – had informed the party of his plan. He would lure the Archdemon to the top of Fort Drakon and there hope to slay it. In the (rather likely, because it seemed that _everything_ had to be personally sorted out by the last of the Grey Wardens and not some Orlesian man too dim to break out of prison without first beholding the radiant visage of the aforementioned last of the Grey Wardens) case of his death, it was up to the remaining Wardens to journey to the Fort and deal with the creature.

The brave group of adventurers-

_I was in that, Oghren said. Hur hur hur._

Yes, Oghren was indeed in that group. So was the former Teyrn Loghain, the last of the Grey Wardens and a bunch of other people. They had courageously purged the alienage of all darkspawn including a rather macho darkspawn General, and after receiving many grateful gifts from the elves they had saved, were about to venture into the still-darkspawn-infested parts of the city. It was then that they witnessed a horrifying sight – Riordan, falling to his death from the back of the still-screeching Archdemon. Poor guy.

"Noooooooooo!" screamed... er... Loghain. (Well, he did like yelling a lot.)

"Look! A mighty catapult, upon that ledge!" shouted the last of the Grey Wardens, searching the skies in desperation. "We must use it!"

"But how?" said one of his companions, the bard Leliana.

"Thus!" the last of the Grey Wardens cried. He leapt atop the great contraption, signalling to the rest of his companions to wind, aim and release.

"But- we can't-" said Leliana, moments before another less annoying party member triggered the catapult and sent the valiant last of the Grey Wardens flying.

It was a sure shot, true and straight. The last of the Grey Wardens was hurled through the rain-saturated air directly towards the roaring Archdemon, trusty greatsword at the ready, poised exactly to strike the vile reptile in the heart.

And so, the Blight was ended.

x-x

"That... can't be right," said Velanna with more than a hint of doubt in her voice.

"Course it's not right!" said Oghren, thumping the table. "I'll tell it how it _really_ happened!"

"Psh!" scoffed the Commander. "I'm telling you, it was catapults! That's how I did it."

"Shouldn't you... be dead?" said Sigrun.

"Besides, the whole idea is just silly." Velanna sniffed haughtily. "Don't be so ridiculous!"

"I thought it was exciting," Anders said. "And completely hilarious."

"That... wasn't the point of the retelling, though," Nathaniel said. "Oghren, what did you say about telling it properly?"

"_Properly_? That drunk belch-fest is hardly going to tell anything _properly_!" said Anders. Ser Pounce-a-Lot mewed in agreement, curled up in his lap. Velanna and Justice made similar sounds of agreement.

"Shut your nug-licking face, mage," Oghren said. "This is how_ I_ remember it..."

x-x

Oghren the Greatcleaver Axewrath Mightchopper Spawnbane was bored. These silly little Grunts were no match for him. No, he needed some _real_ action – and not just darkspawn-slicing action, if you know what-

_Please, Anders interjected._

-I mean.

Hur hur.

Oghren effortlessly decapitated two dozen more Hurlocks and walked coolly to the city gates. If the rest of the Blight was this easy, then defeating that bloody great lizard would be no problem at all. He whistled to his faithful posse of Mabari hounds and skilfully lashed them to his mighty Mabari War-Hound Chariot of DOOM.

_Is _my_ Mabari part of this? said the Commander curiously._

The Chariot raced through the city, thankful townspeople praising the dwarf from every street, and all darkspawn were crushed beneath his might.

"Hee-ya!" cried Oghren, sending a few hundred more darkspawn to their DOOM.

"Aieeeeeee! The Archdemon!" shrieked the Commander like a little girl before running for a chamber pot.

"Oghren is coming to the rescue!" bellowed the dwarf. The pack of hounds at his feet barked and howled and slobbered as they neared the big scaley monster, anxious to witness the glory of Oghren's victory.

And he smashed that creature's bony head in with his Worshipful Battleaxe and that was the end of that. The Blight... was over. Ohhhh yeah.

x-x

"Nice," commented Sigrun. "Where's the bit where you woke up?"

"So you really thought that that all happened," Anders said. He shook his head sadly. "Poor Oghren."

"Hey!" said Oghren. "As you could do better! You little blighters probably weren't even born yet."

"Yes... that's me, Anders the six-month-old mage at your service. With a cat."

"So how do you know it's not true?" said the Commander. "Well, I mean, apart from me screaming like a girl, which quite frankly is just rude."

"You gotta admit it, Commander," Oghren said, raising his glass to the man.

"If the Commander is interested in telling a _more realistic_ version of events..." Justice said.

"What are you talking about? I've just told you all what really happened. People are just too embarrassed that they didn't think of springing themselves with a catapult at that Archdemon sooner."

Justice sighed. "Why do you continue to be so exasperating?"

"This is enough!" shouted Velanna suddenly. It seemed that she had reached her limit of juvenile stupidity. "Why don't you _idiots_ just stop with the childish antics? This is _beyond_ exasperating! This is-"

"Fine, fine," said the Commander mildly. He took a sip of his ale. "Here you go."

x-x

The qunari who was travelling with the Blight-fighters, Sten, had a soft spot for cookies. Since he was often on watch duty for the campsite while the soon-to-be-Commander was out on the glamorous job of killing darkspawn and saving the world, he found himself in need of something to pass the time with. Wynne, the grandmotherly mage who had also joined the group, had given him a book of authentic Ferelden recipes after hearing of his love of sweet treats, and so he thought to produce some of his own.

_This doesn't seem right, Justice said._

_Cookies? Sigrun said._

_This... will probably be amusing, even if completely silly, said Nathaniel, sighing._

He flicked past the pages that read, "Lamb And Pea Mush", "Apple... Something Or Other" and "Alistair's Homemade Stew With _Real_ Poison-Ivy!" until he came to the page detailing how to bake cookies. It seemed a simple enough job, and they had bought more than enough ingredients from the last village that they had stopped at. So he proceeded.

When the adventuring party returned to their camp that night, they found Sten rolling around on the ground in agony.

"What's wrong?" cried the Warden with concern as he rushed over to Sten's side. "Are you injured? Wynne, Morrigan, can you help?"

"Bad... recipes..." Sten managed. "Need... antidote!"

Wynne picked up a crusted black object hidden in the grass. "He hasn't even bitten it; this is only a mere lick! This poison must be potent indeed."

"Never mind that! Can't you help?" said the Warden.

"The fool has brought it upon himself," said Morrigan, prodding the spawling Sten with a foot.

"Oh, shut up Morrigan," the Warden said, rolling his eyes. "We must have some Maker-sent generic poison-cookie antidote somewhere! Zevran, do you know anything about this recipe?"

"I have never seen it before in my life," Zevran said, inspecting the recipe book. "But I think I can create a good-enough antidote. Yes?"

_Hehe, I like your Antivan accent, Anders said._

"Good," said the Commander. He watched Wynne as she cast the first in a row of healing spells. Sten seemed to be slightly more at ease now – at least he wasn't screaming in pain anymore.

"When I was in Orlais, poison used to be very much in vogue for murder purposes," Leliana said. "It's all now completely last-season, of course."

"... do we care?" said Morrigan. "These noble Orlesian fools did not have any miracle cure for our dear Sten, surely?"

"Zevran is working on it," muttered the Warden. He handed Wynne a lyrium potion as the soft glow around Sten's body started to fade.

"How long will Zevran be?" asked Wynne. She was moving her hands and chanting to herself at breakneck speed. "Who knows how long it's been in his system while we were out in the woods?"

"Not long now," Zevran replied from his tent, pounding together various herbs and minerals.

_Anders giggled._

"Just a few little touches and... there! Here. He should be as good as new." He ran up to the Warden and placed the vial in his hand.

The Warden trickled the glowing pink-with-green-spots liquid into Sten's mouth. There was a choking gasp, then a splutter and then his eyes rolled upwards into his head.

"Is that... supposed to happen?" said Leliana. "It looks wrong."

"Are you doubting my expertise with poisons, my dear?" said Zevran, lazily narrowing his eyes.

"No- um, well-"

"Ack!" cried Sten all of a sudden. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I think... it is over. I am fine."

"What _was_ that?" said the Commander. "And are you sure you're fine? Really _really_ sure? Like, really?"

"A failed recipe for cookies. Yes," replied Sten. He dusted off his tunic and headed towards his tent.

There was a silence.

"Hmm... with a poison this powerful, surely there are a whole _host_ of possibilities to consider now," said Zevran, picking up another 'cookie'. "Darkspawn have not yet been resistant to any of our poisons, no?"

And so the Master Plan was born. It was simple, really – combining Leliana's skill as an archer with a cookie-tipped arrow was the key. As the dark shape of the Archdemon circled the overrun city of Denerim, she pulled back on her bowstring, closed an eye to aim directly at the beast's gaping maw, and fired.

The Archdemon was dead within seconds.

x-x

"I didn't think I would say it, but that... was even more ridiculous than your first story," said Anders. "Not that it wasn't very enjoyable, of course. Who is this Zevran person, anyway? Did he sound like that in real life?"

"Poncy Antivan elves..." muttered Oghren.

"Poisoned cookie arrows," Sigrun said over him. "Now I've heard it all."

"You should invest in some, Nathaniel," the Commander said. "I'll ask Sten to make some more when he invades Ferelden."

"Are we going to hear a real tale anytime soon or should I give up?" said Velanna furiously. "This is a complete waste of my time!"

"You should probably give up," Nathaniel said.

"You would be amazing with cookiefied arrows. Sending darkspawn to a sweet crumbly death all over Thedas," Anders said to him. "Just saying."

"I second Velanna. We still need to hear a real version," Justice said. "There is no purpose to these fictions."

"I suppose not," sighed the Commander. "And I also suppose that that version does give the limelight to Leliana, which of course is a dead giveaway that it wasn't true."

"That... _was_ the only clue," Anders said.

x-x

"Ah, my dear," said Zevran to the Archdemon. "Surely such a fine specimen such as yourself should not be wasting his time leading such pointless ventures as this Blight? Why, you could be relaxing in Nevarra as we speak, or worshipped by all in the Tevinter Imperium as in your old glorious days as we speak. But no." He sighed. "You choose all this messy violence and pillaging of cities where no-one appreciates your true spendour! It all seems such a waste, do you not agree?"

"Hrrrr," said the Archdemon thoughtfully. He did not resist the elf's caresses.

"What's more, I have it on good account that you were once the grand Dragon of Beauty! Is that title not more pleasing than this? The hatred of the whole of Thedas for something as pointless and empty as wrecking this city?" Zevran shook his head sadly. "If I were in your shoes, then it is clear to me what I would choose. A life of beauty would be far more preferential than this barbaric war nonsense. Your true artistry will never be appreciated like this!"

The Archdemon had heard enough. He spread his wings, called to his darkspawn minions to stop bothering his future worshippers and get back home to the Deep Roads, and flew away into the stormy night.

In the days to come, however lavish the celebrations, however devoted his followers, the Archdemon – or Urthemiel, as he would be known – would never forget the one Antivan elf who had turned his life around.

x-x

"That elf did like his flirting," said Oghren. "Not that he had anything on _my_ skills, but I wouldn't put it past him to try and get in that dragon's pants."

"That is _it_! I'm leaving!" shouted Velanna, storming out of the room in a huff. The rest of the room stared after her.

"I am in half a mind to go after her," Justice said.

"She really doesn't know how to enjoy herself, does she?" said the Commander. "Besides, I thought my Antivan accent was quite good."

"Don't worry, Commander, I enjoyed it," said Anders cheerfully.

"So I suppose the body of a giant dragon on the top of Fort Drakon was all an elaborate sham for this star-crossed love affair to go unnoticed?" Nathaniel said.

"Of course," the Commander said, nodding. "Glad to see someone's on the ball!"

"You need a more epic story than that, Commander," said Oghren. "Poncy Antivan elf flirting just doesn't cut it."

x-x

Lo, it was a harrowing sight, for the great and terrible evil that had thusfar plagued the noble land of Ferelden had settled upon Denerim such as the magnificent bear doth engulf its prey.

_It's very... epic, said Anders, but do bears really engulf people?_

That quadruped ursine's overwhelming engulfment of innocent souls was surely an apt metaphor, for so dark and so threatening was this wickedness on the land that no other flora or fauna could lend its name even to a fraction of its might. It had come to Denerim such as the swift eagles in flight, and far worse than that for no mere eagle could lead such a veritable army of its cursed followers. O! for it was death, destruction and darkness! The good people of the land prayed in fervent desperation for a saviour, one who would send this nefarious malevolence back from whence it had came.

The dank mist swirled and twisted atwixt a lone figure, a lonely silhouette against the sky ablaze. The townspeople gasped at this wondrous sight, for the age-old legends that this hero had inaugurated were such universal knowledge that no man alive could say nay when asked thrice – for there was only one man, one hero-

The Grey Warden.

_I think you may have just murdered the Ferelden language, Commander, said Nathaniel._

_I'm... lost... Sigrun said, looking slightly disorientated._

And lo, the Warden came upon the city, and asked whither the dark Archdemon's path had taken him, and the townspeople replied: Yea, he has gone to the Fort.

The Warden gave them his gracious thanks, and they said unto him: Wherefore do you seek the creature?

And so he said unto them: For I am a Grey Warden, and thus runs my fate.

_So now it's a Chantry reading. All the 'unto's and 'thus's, said Anders._

The Warden set upon the road and did slaughter many scores of darkspawn; the Ogre-Slaying of the Market was a mere one of the tales that were born upon this very day, as was the Cleansing of the Elf-home. All that saw him rejoiced even as the skies were darkened and the crops rottened, for it was known that the Grey Warden walked by. And it came to pass that the Warden broke through the polluted ranks to the Fort and there, so lay the great dragon in wait for the hero.

Lo, the Warden cried: Behold your death!

The foul creature laughed, and shrieked his death knell, and said in a voice replete with the despair of the world and the worlds beyond: Nay, what hope is there to slay me? For thousands have died at my behest, and thousands more will die before this night is done. Little hero, did thou not knowest the eldest prophecy, the prophecy that reads thus: I can be slain by no man?

Yea, replied the Warden so softly that none could hear, but of course the dragon before him was none that this world may naturally bear: I knowest.

The Archdemon laughed again, for surely this was a fool that knew his own demise, and such an idea was pleasing to the black beast.

The battle that so commenced was witnessed by no man and yet all men. Such was the cataclysm that the very earth quaked underfoot and the skies opened with crimson flame. None could describe it, but all had experienced it. And when it seemed that the Archdemon had gained the advantageous lead and had beared down his unclean weight upon the Warden, the Warden spoke again:

That which you knowest not is your ruin, for knowest thou this: I am no man.

Lo! he removed his helmet of white steel and the Archdemon gazed upon him and cried out, for the Warden was no man but a woman.

And then the freakishly spiky dragon died.

x-x

"What in the name of the Ancestors was _that_?" shouted Oghren, accidentally splashing his liquor over the rest of the group. "For one thing, I didn't understand a sodding word of that nonsense! You've got some explaining to do, twinklepants."

"It burns!" moaned Anders, trying to wipe off as much of the alcohol that had landed on his hand as possible.

"Give me that," said Nathaniel as he reached for Anders's hankerchief. "My arms feel like you cast an inferno on me. Again."

Justice simply watched with interest as the droplet on his skin fizzed and spat. Sigrun rolled her eyes at Nathaniel and Anders's pained groans.

"I don't think that stuff is safe," said the Commander to Oghren worriedly.

"I don't think your face is safe!" retorted Oghren.

"... yes it is."

"So... you're actually a woman?" said Sigrun. "I got the ending. I think."

"It's a very good disguise," said the Commander.

"What?"

There was a confused silence.

"Well," said Anders, "I think it's safe to say that that wasn't really why the Archdemon died. Unless what I saw at the hot baths was a really, _really_ good disguise."

"Maybe you should have looked closer," muttered Nathaniel. Sigrun snorted.

"It could've been!" said the Commander. "I don't know why you people don't believe anything I tell you. It's just mean."

"Your face is mean," grumbled Oghren.

"Or it might be because of the simple fact that it's not true," Sigrun said.

"Is there something hard about telling us the real story?" said Justice. "I do not know why you insist on telling us these fabrications otherwise."

"And it's getting really late," said Anders. "We should probably get to sleep soon."

Sigrun yawned to emphasise the point. "Mmph. It can't be that bad, can't it?"

The Commander considered it and sighed. "Fine. I suppose it would have to come sooner or later. Just don't kill me right now, because that might have a nasty mess on this nice hardwood floor."

x-x

"Hey guys," said Riordan to the two Grey Wardens in front of him. "Did you know that to kill an Archdemon, you have to suicidally throw yourself at it first?"

"... you what?" said the not-Loghain Warden, henceforth referred to as The Warden.

"Yep! Hope it's cool and all, me telling you this right before the final battle instead of some other useful time! Have fun tossing coins and deciding which of you dies! Bye!"

Loghain and The Warden looked at each other in disbelief.

Later on that evening, The Warden returned to his bedroom to find the witch Morrigan waiting there. Now, Morrigan was the kind of girl who wore a scarf for a top (it didn't cover very much, really) and would sleep with anyone as long as he asked nicely enough. She was also the right kind of evil to kick kittens and laugh while doing it.

"Yo there," said Morrigan to the confused Warden. "I'm in your room 'cos I want to you get in my pants and knock me up tonight. All good?"

"... you what?" said The Warden.

"Let me explain," said Morrigan, not really explaining. "My evil demon-mother sent me with you guys so I could do this weird blood magic ritual which ends up in a devil-spawn kid growing in my womb ready to cause the apocalypse or whatever when it grows up. That okay with you?"

"..."

"You see, you're probably going to die tomorrow. But! I have a solution! If you do the nasty with me tonight, I can transfer the soul of that spiky dragon to your newly created child instead of you. And you get to live! Plus, I get a baby to love and adore. Good for everyone! Yes/yes?"

The Warden was completely overwhelmed by the masses of sideboob showing through her non-top and did not have the brainpower left to think straight. Before he knew it, it was morning and Morrigan was saying, "Thanks for the sperm, see you in hell!"

Then the group marched to Denerim and stabbed the Archdemon on the top of Fort Drakon. The rest is history.

:)

_A/N: I may have overdone the EPIC one. Sorry._

_The PC in my mind is my m!Cousland who is the right sort of ridiculous for this fic. He's also called SacredBob (King Bob for short)... which is why he has no name here. But you can probably substitute any m!PC in his place._


End file.
